OCTOBER 3, 2018  / OLIVETTI'S CAFE AND BISTRO

"Interview with Asher Delrov commenced October 3rd at 12:19," the reporter, Tallulah Zhang, voiced into her phone as she began a new sound recording.

Asher and Tallulah were nestled into the corner booth of an up-and-coming new cafe. Popular enough to get good reviews, not so popular that it would be too loud for an interview for MX Magazine.

Tallulah placed her phone on the table, picking up her mug of coffee. "So Asher, the last time you did an interview for MX, you were featured as a promising rider. What sort of things have changed in your life since then?"

"Straight into the loaded questions then," Asher quipped, taking a long sip of his own drink.

Tallulah's eyes twinkled humourously, mirroring the gleaming piercing through her left eyebrow. "Naturally. That's the reporter way, isn't it?"

"Fair point," Asher returned her warm smile. "Well, I was a teenager at the time of my last interview. If I remember which one it was correctly, I went on to win the state-wide Grand Prix in the 450cc class. Then, I got into an accident, lost my leg, gained some great friends and now I'm the CEO of my own prosthetic start-up company."

"Your accident rocked the motocross community here in New York. I remember how everyone seemed, collectively at least, devastated at the loss of potential you had. What do you think about how the public responded to your accident?"

"The public did as the public does. At the time, it pissed me off. So damn much."

Tallulah's eyebrow twitched upwards, the corner of her lip lifting in amusement at his profanity. She was glad, though, that they could talk like they were old friends.

"Now," Asher continued, "I don't mind how invasive they were, or the awful headlines the tabloids came up with. Well — actually, I do mind — but now I can understand it. Teenage motocross prodigy hides medical condition to compete, gets bitten in the ass by karma. Journalistic gold, right?"

She shrugged. "It's a shiny story, sure, but I would have expected you and your family to be treated with more sensitivity at such a dark time. But, back you what you mentioned — do you believe in karma?"

"Hmm. Good question. I'm not sure about karma." 

Ekaterina's face, his first broken bone, the cemetery in his hometown, the petroleum smell of his father's repair shop and Ryanel's forgiving grin flashed in Asher's mind all of a sudden.

"I certainly don't believe that people get what they deserve. Good people deserve more than they ever get and bad people get more than they ever deserve."

"Preach," Tallulah affirmed.

"And as the whole world kind of knows now, I've spent my whole life being buffeted this way and that by the universe — though whether I deserved it is up for debate," Asher joked self-deprecatingly.

Tallulah scoffed, taking another sip. Her deep brown eyes peered over the rim of her coffee mug in a way that seemed to tell Asher just how much she admired him, and believed he deserved more good things in his life. 

Asher continued, "But I do think good things come to those who work for them. Whether that's physical labour, emotional generosity, or spiritual work."

"And would you say you're doing all three in your new startup company? You obviously have the managerial side, which sounds like conventional labour if I ever heard it. But does the charity work and research you're doing help you spiritually?"

"It's hugely rewarding, yes. Obviously the chance to work with kids, the underprivileged and differently-abled is the largest part of why I turned to being an entrepreneur and a philanthropist. But, and no-one knows this, it feels like I've come full circle because this is what my mother was working on before she passed away."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tallulah murmured softly. She reached out to rub Asher's hand comfortingly, before she caught herself and her hand darted away, disappearing under the table. Asher overlooked the light pink blush that tinged her cheeks.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago." 

"Well, sounds like you've lived quite a life," Tallulah said. "All at the ripe old age of twenty-two."

"If one call this living, I guess."

"Oh? Care to elaborate?" Tallulah prompted.

Asher wasn't sure where his comment had come from.

He thought he was happy. It had been years since his accident. He had family, friendship, and with his company, a newfound purpose in life. For all intents and purposes, he should be grateful for the position he was in.

But no matter what the textbook said, there were still nights he awoke from nightmares of twisting, gnashing metal and blood-red flames. Sometimes he saw the faces of people he loved most — Ekaterina, Vasily, Ryanel — be overcome by wretched darkness, unable to save them. And underpinning all his days was the gnawing anticipation for the next time things inevitably turned south. 

Because that had been the pattern of his life since he was born.

"I'm not sure where that came from, to be honest. Or how to even say it."

Other times sleep wouldn't visit him at all. He felt lonely and cold even on the warmest of summer nights, and he would often wrap his arms around himself tightly and imagine someone was holding him.

"It's okay," Tallulah offered comfortingly. "You can take all the time you need."

Asher smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

The most recent development yet, was that Asher could feel himself losing his — well, losing something. In meetings with his Ryanel, Kelvin and Annalise, he would zone out only to be brought back with a hard, stern look.

And he couldn't even muster up regret. Or sheepishness, or the desire to do better. It was like the saturation of his feelings was being nudged down day by day. The visits to the children's hospital didn't make him feel as yellow, nor did the group video calls with Kerrish and Ryanel make him feel as pink.

Tallulah must have sensed the turmoil that was brewing within Asher as he tried to articulate what he was feeling. She regarded him with a sympathetic look, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"Interview finished at 12:48," she said into her phone, ending the voice recording. "We don't have to talk anymore, if you don't want to. Or, we don't have to talk as professionals."

"Pardon?"

"Let's talk as friends."

Everything was fading to grey, no matter what he did, who he talked to, or how many self-help articles he read.

Asher was terrified.

But that terror, too, didn't even feel real anymore.

So when Tallulah volunteered her listening ear and open heart in the corner booth of Olivetti's, Asher grasped onto it like a lifeline. 

He'd never usually consider pouring out his innermost feelings to practically a complete stranger, but from their internet correspondence and brief interview he felt like Tallulah was as good a respite as any.

And thus, Asher took Tallulah up on her offer, unlocking the rusted clasp on his heart to show her patient eyes the rot that was setting in.

Would discussing it unburden him? Would voicing his demons dispel them? Or at the very least make him feel insecure, exposed, relieved, anything?

He hoped so. He really did.